


you live in my fingertips

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9481745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: The way Bernie comes to live with Serena is this:Serena simply asks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't want this show except for YouTube clips so canon means nothing to me! Who knows! Happy domesticity forever! Great!
> 
> Title from a poem by Kamand Kojouri.

The way Bernie comes to live with Serena is this:

Serena simply asks.

 

\- - -

 

Before asking Bernie, Serena sits down with Jason, and he notes that she has her serious face on, starts to count her frown lines and her fingers drift to ease the wrinkles between her eyebrows. 

“Do you like Bernie?” she asks, straightforward as you please. 

“Not the way you like her,” he answers and before Serena can say his name in a warning tone, he follows up with, “Yes.” Just as straightforward as his aunt.

“What if...what would you think about her living here?” She doesn’t know the protocol for this, doesn’t even know if Bernie will say yes. She thinks Bernie will, she’s not attached to the little studio she’s been living in, and Serena certainly hates it. 

“What does she watch on television?” is the only question that Jason asks, and Serena breathes a sigh of relief because Bernie Wolfe does not care about television, and will watch whatever Jason puts on. He knows she does poorly at quiz shows, but more than makes up for it in her competitive enthusiasm. He knows she’ll watch documentaries with him and ask questions that will force him to pause the film to answer in great detail. He knows she’ll probably drift off before the credits even start to roll if she’s had a long day at work. Serena knows he doesn’t truly mind any of this.

“She’ll be sleeping in my room,” Serena ventures forward and Jason rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, I’d realized that - she sleeps there now quite a lot as it is.” Serena laughs at that, because it’s true. More nights than not, if she thinks about it. There’s even space in the closet for Bernie’s shirts, and a pair of her trainers are neatly placed by the front door, right next to Serena’s work shoes. Jason has assigned her a morning coffee mug, and has started to make noises about adding her to the chore roster. 

“Might as well assign her a weekly dish duty, then,” Serena says. “I’ll ask her today if she wants to come stay with us.” 

“She’ll have to wash dishes more than once a week, Auntie, if it’s to be fair.”

 

\- - -

 

At work, later, Serena suddenly feels nervous. What if this is all too much, what if it’s going to make Bernie run scared again. She tries to tell herself she’s being ridiculous, that they’ve been doing...whatever it is they’re doing for long enough that Bernie has to know this is coming. She wouldn’t leave her wadded up, wrinkled clothes around Serena’s if she didn’t want to come back for them at some point. 

Bernie comes into their shared office while Serena is distractedly clicking her pen over and over - in and out - in and out. “What’s wrong?” she asks, because an idle Serena with a nervous tic is an uncommon enough thing to give her pause. 

“Wrong? Nothing. I just wanted to. I wanted to ask you something, Bernie,” Serena says, and takes a deep breath. “I’m just going to say it straight, I’ve never been good at beating around the bush - no,” she stops as Bernie smirks, lifts her eyebrows and opens her mouth to make a quip, “You know what I mean. Do you, I mean, would you want to come live with me? With me and Jason, that is.”

Bernie smiles properly then, her face splitting into sunshine, the way it does when she’s truly pleased by something Serena’s said or done. It’s not a common expression on her face, and Serena feels her heartbeat speed up at the sight of it. “Of course I would.”

It’s so easy that Serena feels silly for even giving it a second thought. She wishes she’d planned it better, that she’d waited until they were curled towards each other in bed, late at night, their foreheads almost touching, their breath mingling, warm and wet, a secret, beautiful, private haven between their bodies. It would have been romantic to ask then, to brush the pale blonde hair from Bernie’s face, to look deep into her dark eyes and ask her to stay forever. 

But that isn’t what happened, and Serena can only hope that someday her enthusiasm won’t outweigh her romanticism. Bernie doesn’t seem too bothered, though, and leans in to kiss the corner of Serena’s mouth, a rare gesture for the workplace, even though everyone knows about the co-leads of AAU. “I’ll pack this weekend,” she promises, and sits down across from Serena, her thoughts already moving back to her patients. 

 

\- - -

 

It’s a rather unceremonious unloading of a few boxes and bags of things. To Serena’s amusement, most of Bernie’s things seem to have been stuffed into large trash bags, which were then wedged into her car for a potentially perilous drive to Serena’s house.    


“Could you even see the road behind you?” Serena asks, taking one of the few boxes out of the boot. 

Bernie shrugs, hefting one bag over her shoulder, carrying another in her other hand. “I know that drive pretty well by now,” is all she says and Serena smiles. Most of Bernie’s things go upstairs into Serena’s room. Her dishes and cookware were brought to a charity shop, her bookshelves sold via the bulletin board at the hospital, her sheets thrown in the trash by a disdainful Serena, grateful to be rid of the jersey knit. Bernie doesn’t have much, which makes her an ideal new roommate, no overlap in kitchen things or tacky knick-knacks that Serena will have to pretend to tolerate. She won’t take over space in the living room and disrupt Jason’s order. Serena smiles happily, watching Bernie walk into what is now her house too.

 

\- - -

 

Unpacking is more of a chore, because Bernie has no interest in it. “I’ve lived out of bags smaller than this,” she says, and Serena realizes Bernie’s afraid of making waves, of taking up too much space. 

“Listen, you,” she says sternly and Bernie’s eyes snap up to meet hers. “This is just as much your room as mine now. There’s space in the closet, there’s space in the bureau. There’s no excuse not to take advantage of it. Don’t tell me I cleaned out drawers for nothing. It was a painstaking process and involved me having to say goodbye to some very old blouses.”   
  
Bernie opens her mouth to apologize and Serena puts a finger to her lips. “Hush, that was a joke. They were horrible blouses, you can just ask Jason.”

So Bernie’s things find a new home, shirts on hangers, nestled against Serena’s, shoes intermingling on the floor of the closet, jeans and trousers filling an empty drawer. Her face flushes red as she stuffs her undergarments rather unceremoniously away, more worried about the potential for a mocking comment about the sheer number of sports bras than anything else. 

Serena folds Bernie’s faded t-shirt and flannel pajama pants and puts them under the pillow of what is now officially her side of the bed. Bernie’s toothbrush clinks against Serena’s as it goes into the cup by the sink. What little make-up she has goes in the cabinet behind the mirror. All the little bits and bobs from her bathroom in her old apartment fill a drawer beneath the sink. Serena sets out towels for the both of them on her heated rack. 

It seems simple, this mixing of their lives. They eat a quiet dinner together, drink a couple of glasses of wine apiece because Bernie won’t have to drive anywhere tonight. Jason helps with the dish washing, mostly to point out how the dishes go in the drying rack, and which towel is meant for hands and which is meant for drying plates and cutlery. 

Jason goes upstairs long before Bernie and Serena, they hear the tap run and the sounds of his puttering around the bathroom. Then his bedroom door closes and Serena looks at Bernie with a mischievous smile on her face. “Isn’t it tradition to christen all the rooms in a new place?” she asks, moving towards Bernie. 

“This isn’t a new place,” Bernie mutters, but lets Serena into her orbit, lets Serena’s hands slide around her waist, clasping at her lower back. Bernie’s hands go to Serena’s shoulders and she leans in to kiss her. “Why don’t we christen  _ our _ bedroom for starters?” Serena smiles at the emphasis in her words, her eyes gleaming with affection. 

 

\- - -

 

Bernie decides it’s nice, this waking up in the same place as Serena every day. It doesn’t take her long to come to this decision at all, only three days of officially living with Serena and Jason. There isn’t much new to get used to, she knows their basic routine, but it still feels new and she still feels a little awkward and like a guest, despite Serena’s constant admonishments. 

Breakfast is still the newest experience. Before she lived here, she usually dashed off home to change before they could share coffee or pastries. Now she reminds herself that it’s fine to go into the kitchen in pajamas, to lean against the counter and wait for the coffee maker to burble out a cup in her stocking feet. Sometimes she brings two mugs back upstairs with her - now that she remembers which mug is Serena’s. Her first morning, she’d angered Jason by bringing up the wrong mug, unthinking in her plan to surprise his aunt.

Serena luxuriates in bed, Bernie knows. She curls up into Bernie while they sleep, happy to held, happy to be close to her, but when Bernie leaves, Serena sprawls, taking up what space she can, splaying out her limbs, burrowing her face into the pillows. 

When she returns to the bedroom, she sets the steaming mugs on her bedside table, nudges lifts Serena’s arm along with the duvet and slides under them both. Serena sleepily turns her head towards the smell of coffee and smiles up at Bernie. “I like having you around,” she says, her voice thick and full of morning grogginess. She moves onto her back, slides up against the headboard and holds her hand out for her mug, which Bernie is ready to pass off.

“I like being around,” Bernie answers, not missing the way Serena looks at her, eyes wide, hopeful and happy. Bernie isn’t prone to declarations of anything, really, they often have to be pried out of her, but on occasion, she’ll drop one out of nowhere, freely given and easy. She knows she needs to be better at this, at telling Serena how she feels, and she suspects it will come, in time. For now, Serena gladly accepts the little surprises and confessions of affection, knowing Bernie is doing her best.

They hear Jason’s door open, his call to them that there isn’t much time before work, and the moment is broken. But Bernie knows there’s a chance for a moment like this tomorrow. And for many tomorrows after.

 

\- - -

 

They argue. It’s natural, Bernie supposes. They argue at work, they argued before she moved in. Just because they share a bed every night doesn’t mean they’ve magically come to be two people who agree upon everything.

Bernie is sloppy. She is fine with her clothes on the floor, and leaving the house with the bed unmade. She will leave her mug sitting on the living room table with old coffee in it all day long, microwaving it in the evening to finish it off. Her towels always feel slightly damp to Serena, who always is the one to hang them up to dry. She doesn’t seem to ever be able to find her own brush, and uses Serena’s, leaving wavy blonde strands behind. 

But she cooks well enough, and knows when to start dinner if Serena’s running late. She has a knack for fish and chips, even makes a dipping sauce that Jason doesn’t hate. She makes pancakes on lazy Saturday mornings, and slices oranges to sit alongside them on the plate. She lets Serena curl around her at night, likes to keep her fingers underneath Serena’s thigh when they drive anywhere. She is easy with affection when they’re at home, happy to share a blanket on the sofa, happy to hold Serena’s feet in her lap. She slides a hand along Serena’s back when she passes behind her in the kitchen, drops a kiss to the top of her head when she walks by the dining room table, smiles a secret smile meant just for them whenever Serena meets her gaze.

Serena is fastidious, and living with Jason has only made her more so. She mutters about having to clean up after a grown woman and cleans out hair from the shower drain. She clanks mugs around the sink that have sat around for too long. She straightens up papers that Bernie is still in the middle of working on. She has strict rules for use of the washing machine, and even stricter rules for the linen closet. She speaks too sharply sometimes, Bernie’s head always snapping up in alarm at a minor offense that Serena has taken too much to heart.

But she smiles easily and laughs loud, stares at Bernie as if she’s the most precious thing in the entire world. She curls into Bernie in bed, a human hot water bottle, and makes Bernie feel safe and secure. She envelops her household in warmth and love and dotes on her two housemates when she can, doling out words of affection. She sings along to the radio in the car, and always gets two of anything when she buys snacks. She knows how to calm Bernie at night, makes hot cocoa with a splash of something stronger. She has made room in her life for Bernie like it was nothing, like Bernie was meant to be there all along.

So they bicker and they argue, and it isn’t all sweetness and light, and they do go to bed angry on occasion, but in the middle of the night, when sleep overtakes them, they find each other, and wake up in the morning, all tangled up and close. Only once did Bernie sleep on the couch, but Serena joins her in the middle of the night, and they maneuver their aging bodies until they both fit. They’ve waited too long to find each other to stay mad for any extensive amount of time.

 

\- - -

 

Serena has specific routines. Before surgery she takes off her necklace, her earrings. She scrubs up, bottoms first, then the shirt. She ties back her leopard scrub cap. She washes her hands, right and then left, singing “Respect” in her head to help her time it out properly. She smiles at the anesthetist, the nurses. She examines the tools in front of her. She takes a deep breath, and then she starts in.

She doesn’t think Bernie has a routine, thinks Bernie’s career has been so formed by traumas that she simply blows in and out, gets ready as fast as is safe, no thought to songs or order to anything. She uses the standard issue hospital scrub caps, the ones that get thrown away at the end of every surgery, or recycled. Serena isn’t actually sure what happens to them. But they are thin, and come further forward on Bernie’s head, keeping her fringe back, making her eyes look enormous and her face slightly insectile (though she would never say that out loud).

“Why don’t you have your own scrub cap?” she asks one day, when they’re sitting at home, a quiet afternoon while Jason is still at work. They’re on the couch, Bernie lying down, her cold toes shoved underneath Serena’s legs, a concession Serena makes only because she likes having Bernie close.

Bernie doesn’t even open her eyes. “Never seemed important,” is all she says, and the ticking of the clock on the mantle is the only sound for a bit. Serena knows she can wait out these pauses, that eventually Bernie will fill them in. “It was always one more thing to worry about, in the field. Why spend the money on something like that? It either wouldn’t be handy, or I’d forget about it. It just never mattered. One more thing to pack, at the end of the day, really.” 

Serena knows that Bernie doesn’t keep extraneous things. While Serena has tucked away a receipt from their first official date (the food was terrible, the company excellent), a ticket stub from the first time Bernie kissed her in a darkened movie theater (the movie was awful, but a popcorn-flavored kiss was wonderful), an almost burned-out candle from their first bath together (she can’t find that scent anymore), Bernie doesn’t hold on to the tangible sentimental things. She will remember something Serena said from months ago, will surprise her with a scarf Serena admired but didn’t buy, keeps track of important dates, always shows up when Serena needs her. Those are the things Bernie keeps.

For some reason, the scrub cap niggles at her for a while. Easily, Serena could make it emblematic of Bernie’s transitory nature, that she won’t settle down, she won’t buy a scrub cap, she won’t start buying frivolous things, she won’t put down roots. But she tells that voice to be quiet, tells herself that it’s just not something Bernie’s ever given two whits about. 

But Serena finds herself caring about it a great deal, and ends up buying Bernie a scrub cap, soft and grey, and hardly remarkable. She gives it to her before bed one night, tells Bernie she’s got a surprise for her. Bernie closes her eyes gamely, and Serena plonks the cap right on her head, ties it up in a neat bow, careful not to snag any fine blonde hair in the laces.

Bernie opens her eyes while Serena is still leaning in close, her chest in Bernie’s face. Serena feels Bernie’s breath on her skin, feels the flush start to rise up to her cheeks. 

“What is this?” Bernie asks, reaching up to feel her head. Serena sits back on her heels, puts her hands on her thighs. 

“It’s a hat for the derby next month, Bernie. What do you think it is?” Serena’s eyes are smiling and kind, laughter dancing in them. “I thought you might want your own scrub cap.”

Bernie looks back at Serena, her mouth open a little, at a loss for words. Serena begins to doubt herself, maybe this was the wrong thing to do, the wrong gift to give. She bounces slightly, nervously, her fingers twitching as she waits to hear what Bernie has to say.

“Thank you,” is what finally comes out of her mouth. “I’ve never had my own.” Bernie pulls it off her head, holds it in her hands, stares at it.

“You can keep it in your locker. So it’s always handy,” Serena offers lamely, trying to fix this situation, but without really knowing what’s wrong.

Bernie smiles, then sets the cap on her bedside table, touches it once more, lightly, gently. She lays back on the bed. Serena feels like something is still amiss, but slides under the covers too, and rolls onto her side to watch Bernie, who is rolling over something in her brain, and Serena knows she’s trying to find the right words to say. Serena doesn’t know how to tell her that she could never say the wrong thing, that silence is the only thing they can’t work past.

“It makes me feel like I belong,” Bernie says after a bit. Her voice is distant and she’s not meeting Serena’s gaze. Serena thinks she understands now, a little. Bernie still feels like an outsider at Holby, on AAU. She’s been there long enough, the staff like her, respect her, but there’s still a sense that she might leave, or she’s only temporary. But having her own scrub cap is like putting a picture frame on a desk or hanging a painting on a wall. It means she’s putting down roots. “It makes me feel like I can stay.” Bernie’s voice is wavering now. 

Serena reaches out, brushes back Bernie’s hair from her face, lets her hand rest on Bernie’s cheek. “You can,” she affirms, and says nothing else, because sometimes there’s nothing else really to say.

 

\- - -

 

The only downside, really, to Bernie moving in is that now they no longer have her apartment to escape to for a surefire afternoon of uninterrupted sex and intimacy. Jason respects their boundaries, lets them have alone time, but there’s always the knowledge that he’s in the house, or that he might come home early if something’s gone wrong. Sometimes it makes things exciting, makes their movements more frenzied, makes it all feel taboo. 

But there are times Jason will pointedly make plans to spend the night elsewhere, and Bernie often thinks he knows more about relationships than either of them might imagine.

When they have the night to themselves, Bernie tries to be a little romantic, though it doesn’t come naturally. She finds candles, but leaves the burnt matches lying around. She makes a nice dinner, but doesn’t always wash the pots and pans. She pours wine, but throws the cork away (Serena doesn’t mind that habit as much). Serena enjoys being served a warm meal, looks at Bernie through the rising steam on her plate. Bernie is always bashful when her small gestures are acknowledged, so Serena simply squeezes her hand and smiles, rubs her foot against Bernie’s shin.

They leave the plates to soak in the sink and go to the bedroom. Undressing is slow, tantalizing, and they revel in the time they don’t normally have. Bernie moves with unhurried grace, she has never been nervous about baring her skin. It’s a casualness that comes from sharing locker rooms and army bunkers. Serena is more studied, taking off her trousers and her shirt with the air of someone pretending at confidence. Even after all this time, after all of Bernie’s words in praise of Serena’s beauty, she still feels a little trembly at the thought of being naked in front of her.

Bernie likes to take off Serena’s bra, likes to slide her pants down her legs, enjoys watching Serena step out of them, her pale skin a buffet to Bernie’s eyes. Bernie unhooks her own bra, slides back up Serena’s body, making sure they are touching, skin to skin, as much as possible. Serena jerks slightly as the strands of Bernie’s hair tickle her already sensitive nipples. She kisses Bernie, wet and sloppy, hums happily in the back of her throat.

Bernie’s hands are purposeful and direct. Sometimes she spends too much time approaching sex as a tactical mission, and Serena does her best to distract her, to throw off her focus. But Serena appreciates it when Bernie slides two fingers inside her, a third joining soon after. She hefts her body slightly, adjusting to the feeling. 

Serena’s always been good at sex, but she thinks Bernie’s made her better. She’s more responsive to Bernie’s ministrations, louder and giddier. She pays more attention to what makes Bernie’s breath hitch, how to move her tongue and fingers just so. She’s found erogenous zones where she thought none could possibly exist. She feels like her whole body is an erogenous zone when Bernie looks at her with dark eyes full of want.

She nips at Bernie’s lower lip, pulls it, sucks it, slides her tongue over it. Bernie’s tongue meets hers in the middle. They kiss, open mouthed and freely. How wonderful it is to have each other, Serena thinks. 

Bernie usually maneuvers them to the bed. Serena could happily snog Bernie until the end of time with no forward motion, because it’s just that enjoyable. Bernie blushes whenever Serena tells her that, though she’s always known she’s a good kisser. 

They used to have small arguments, little tiffs, about who would go first and would they take turns and did it matter if it was even, and what did even mean anyway, until Serena, exasperated, asks if she should ask Jason to make them a schedule. Bernie stops mid-sentence, her mouth open, her eyes wide, then lets out a honking laugh that Serena thinks she’s never heard before, but wants to hear every day for the rest of her life. 

They kiss on the bed, their hands roaming each other’s body, keying them up, making every nerve ending tingle. Serena always ends up with her hands in Bernie’s hair, enjoying the feel of it, enjoying making it even messier. Bernie likes to anchor her hands on Serena’s hips, to keep her body close.

Bernie loves going down on Serena, loves the taste of her, musky and strong, loves the feel of her, smooth and soft. She laps and licks and nips and swirls and enjoys the sound of Serena’s pants and moans, her groans and hums. She makes an infinite number of sounds, some of them even resemble “Bernie” and “please.” Making Serena inarticulate, Bernie has found, is a singular joy.

Serena loves nothing so much as eliciting sounds from the usually taciturn Bernie Wolfe. She uses her fingers to bring Bernie to the edge, toys with her, smirking all the while. She makes a slow path down Bernie’s abdomen, kissing and biting, laving any hurt away with her tongue. She breathes, strong and hot, the air ghosting over Bernie’s wetness, making Bernie shiver and spasm, frantic and wanting. And Serena’s mouth joins her hands and Bernie groans so loudly that Serena can feel it, smirking between her thighs.

They stay close, when they’re done. Bernie’s hands never stop moving, flitting around Serena, as if to confirm she’s really there. Serena, for her part, likes to rest her head in the crook of Bernie’s neck, to feel her heartbeat. They lay in silence for a while, before Bernie disentangles herself, usually to use the facilities. Then she’ll draw a bath, and Serena will rise from her sated state to slide into the tub with Bernie. 

The bath is large, they face each other, knees bent. There’s always a little awkwardness, figuring out whose feet go where, but when their settled, the water is warm and their faces are flushed, and Serena can’t think of a more perfect evening.

 

\- - -   
  


Serena has an expressive, open face. Bernie likes to watch her emotions flit across, enjoys the creases around her mouth when she smiles, bracketing her grin, like parentheses holding a secret message just for her. Bernie wishes she could say she stared at Serena less since they’ve gotten together, officially, but it’s hardly true. Serena’s eyes are the ones she looks for when something ridiculous or terrible or wonderful or awful happens. She seeks Serena’s face like a lifeline, no matter the situation.

Bernie’s face is often shuttered and guarded. Serena watches her often, categorizes her moods. She can tell a lot about Bernie just from her face. She knows how to recognize sad eyes, tired eyes, excited eyes, laughing eyes. Bernie doesn’t let emotions linger in her features, but for Serena, who’s always watching, they’re obvious. 

Jason tells them how much time they spend looking at each other one day, which only serves to make them both blush. Bernie coughs loudly and pretends to be very interested in her computer screen. 

“Has it affected our work performance?” Serena asks levelly. Bernie sneaks a look over the top of her computer, but Serena is only looking at Jason.

“Well, not exactly. But you did almost get hit by a gurney, and I can tell you how uncomfortable that can be,” he says, touching his shoulder as a reminder of his injury.

“Yes, of course. Very uncomfortable. I’ll try not to stare at Bernie in busy hallways, then. How’s that?” Bernie hides a laugh in another cough and Jason looks at her curiously, his mouth holding the hint of a smile. 

“Better get that tickle checked out. I’m sure Auntie Serena would be happy to perform a check-up.” Bernie chuckles openly at this, enjoying Jason’s humor, enjoying that he feels he can joke about this, with her. 

It’s time to go home, so he waits in their office while they pack up their things. Bernie touches Serena’s hand lightly with her fingers as they walk towards the elevators, and Serena doesn’t pull away, but doesn’t entwine their hands either. They keep things fairly professional at work, even if they’re hardly a secret. 

The car ride home is quiet, Bernie sitting in the back to acquiesce to Jason’s wish for the passenger seat and control of the radio. Her long legs are tucked up, her hands on her knees. Jason fiddles with the radio before finding a station playing a classical song. He taps along to the melody with his fingers. 

Bernie enjoys the familiarity of their routine once they get home. Toeing off shoes in the front hall, Serena always tidying them up after Jason and Bernie have moved into another room. Coats are hung, Jason splits away to spend some time in his room, to give Bernie and Serena a chance to be together and alone. He is kind to them, and through his own quest for romance, seems to have developed quite an understanding about what they might like.

The weight of their day starts to lift. They shed the mantle of their titles with their coats, no longer doctors, just two women. They move to the kitchen in tandem, like a well-rehearsed dance. There is an ease and comfort in their movements. Serena looks over her shoulder at Bernie, a smile on her lips, and Bernie’s eyes crinkle at the sight.

 

\- - -

 

They get to have a weekend to themselves, when they don’t have to work. Jason’s already planned to be at Alan’s and Serena pretends like she isn’t in charge of the schedule and didn’t figure this out ahead of time. 

Serena wakes Bernie up on Saturday morning with gentle kisses to her neck, following the tendon down to her shoulder. Bernie smiles, tilts her head, encouraging Serena to continue, which she does, unhurriedly. Serena lifts up Bernie’s t-shirt, takes it over Bernie’s head - it’s in her way, impeding her progress. She tongues Bernie’s breasts, the left first, then the right, her hands moving up Bernie’s sides, massaging her gently, then pinching every so slightly, and Bernie gasps. 

Serena likes to take her time, when she can. She likes to apply her extraordinary focus to the task at hand, likes to make Bernie come at least twice before they’ve even had coffee. Bernie has yet to complain, and sometimes forgoes the caffeine, says she’s had a very good jolt to her system without it. Serena can’t help but feel smug about it all.

She settles herself between Bernie’s legs, long and lithe and pale. Bernie bends her knee, hooks her foot below Serena’s arse, anchors a hand in Serena’s hair. Serena’s mouth is eager and willing, she loves doing this. Bernie starts to quake quickly enough. She always comes faster in the morning, her usual British reserve not yet in place. One strong lick, combined with the stroke of her fingers, and Bernie groans, deep and low. Serena lays her head against Bernie’s thigh, looks up at the woman splayed out on the pillows above her, eyes closed in blissful reverie.

Bernie doesn’t revel in the afterglow for long, anxious to return the favor. She fusses with the tie of Serena’s robe, and Serena has to help her unknot it. She drops the silk to the ground, and lets Bernie push her backwards onto the bed. Bernie kisses her, long and hard, her hand already at work between them, her body thrusting into Serena’s. Serena matches the pace, enjoying the friction, can barely think between Bernie’s tongue in her mouth and her fingers on her clit. She pulls back from Bernie, nestles her face in the crook of Bernie’s neck, gently bites there, and Bernie groans again. She twists her fingers, bends them, turns them just so, and it’s Serena’s turn to groan, to breathe out “God, I love you,” as her head falls back onto the pillow.

Bernie straddles her properly, sits tall astride Serena, continues to thrust, to use her fingers, rides out the aftershocks of Serena’s orgasm, and Serena feels another one coming, quickly. Bernie’s free hand tweaks her breasts, her nipples erect and responsive to the lightest stimuli. She can’t think, can’t speak, can only breathlessly look at the woman on top of her, roll her hips into her. Bernie bends over, kisses Serena again, open-mouthed, sloppy, and Serena moves one of her hands to the apex of Bernie’s legs, slides her fingers inside. It’s awkward, their wrists next to each other, but they come together, then, Bernie holding back until she sees Serena start to topple over the edge. Then she sags on top of Serena, sated and happy and all the things she never dreamt for herself.

They lay like that for a while, skin to skin, breathing in time, their bodies sticky and warm, the sheets tangled and musky. Bernie wishes, just for a moment that every weekend could be like this, but then she thinks of dinners with Jason and loudly guessing answers to QI, and feels a different kind of glow take over. It’s all good, all of it.

 

\- - -

 

They never end up having to have a conversation about the status of their relationship - Jason is the one who brings it up. It’s only natural, Bernie supposes, that he would want a clear definition and parameters for this. She wonders if Serena’s been wondering about them too. Bernie has never felt so happy, so content, and that’s all that really matters to her. She’s never been good at saying how she feels. 

“Are you going to be living with us forever?” Jason asks them as they’re clearing the dishes after dinner one night. Bernie’s head practically flies off her neck, she whips it up so fast to look at Serena. 

“I rather think that’s up to your auntie,” she answers, because Serena is studiously not looking at her. Bernie wishes Serena were close enough that she could pinch the skin at her elbow to make her pay for this. “How would you feel if the answer was yes?”

“I don’t think I would mind. You wash dishes well, and you remember to buy orange juice when you go grocery shopping.” Jason’s drying a dish with a towel and Serena’s stuck her head in the fridge, puttering away with tupperware and leftovers. 

“Thank you for that,” Bernie says equably, and passes behind Serena, nudging her with her hips and, making her start.

“Louder shoes,” Serena says, an old joke between them now. “Bernie gets to stay as long as she and I both want, Jason.”

“Will you get married?” he asks, because apparently he’s decided to host his own quiz show in their kitchen.

Bernie and Serena look at each other. It’s nothing they’ve ever talked about, not really. Bernie once said she’d feel silly having any kind of ceremony at this point, that she’d rather just go to a courthouse and be done with it. Serena agrees, for the most part. Marriage doesn’t mean permanence to her, not anymore. Bernie lifts a shoulder in a half shrug and Serena rolls her eyes.

“Probably not, Jason. But that doesn’t mean Bernie isn’t sticking around. Sometimes love is enough, even without a certificate.” Bernie bumps into Serena with no small amount of affection, her hand going around Serena’s waist. 

“So she’s family, then?” He isn’t letting this rest, it seems. He’s finished drying dishes and is now staring at them with a certain amount of intensity. He’s looking for some kind of answer, but neither Serena nor Bernie knows exactly what it is he’s hoping to learn.

“Yes, yes she is,” Serena says emphatically and Bernie squeezes her, her fingers anchored in Serena’s midsection. They’ve both struggled with ex-husbands and children and they’ve made a home for themselves, a little trio, and Serena wouldn’t ever think of denying it the name “family.”

“Auntie Bernie,” Jason says, as if he’s testing it out for the first time and for the second time that night, Bernie worries about the strength of her own neck as her head snaps up. “Auntie Bernie,” he says again, and smiles, nodding matter-of-factly. “Time for Countdown.”

Bernie’s still in shock, a little. It’s not exactly unwelcome, just unexpected. Serena’s eyes are dancing with mirth. “It looks like you’re in it now, Ms. Wolfe,” Serena says, clapping Bernie on the back with a laugh.

 

\- - -

 

Bernie’s instinct is always to flee. She’s tamped down on it for the most part, but it still emerges, a nagging voice in the back of her mind, reminding her that she shouldn’t get comfortable, that she’ll do something wrong and everything will go to pot. 

She’s quiet after Jason calls her Auntie Bernie. This feels like a more significant commitment than any ring or formal declaration. She would never want to do anything to upset the balance of the life that Serena and Jason have carved out for themselves. She knows they’ve carved out a space for her too, but that doesn’t mean she’s not afraid of a cave-in, that this fragile world they’ve made could collapse at any moment.

Serena knows that something is amiss, knows that Bernie is prone to flight when things get to be too much. She lets Bernie have her space, knows, too, that Bernie will come back to her. The threads of their lives are entwined, but not binding. She doesn’t need to pull.

They lay in bed, Bernie facing away from Serena. Serena lays on her back, counting the seconds. She’s made a bet with herself about when Bernie will finally break, will finally say something about what’s eating at her. She’s losing. 

Finally,  _ finally _ Bernie turns over, sits up, back straight against the headboard. She flicks on the light. Serena doesn’t even pretend like she was sleeping, just looks up at Bernie, then eases herself up to mirror her seated posture.

“He called me ‘auntie,’” Bernie says, her voice cracking slightly. She has children, done the parenting thing, and mucked it up. And her children barely speak to her, are only marginally receptive towards her attempts at making amends, resent her absence from their childhood, judge her affair. But Jason doesn’t have that baggage. Knows Bernie only as a brave soldier, as someone who listens to him, who makes his actual aunt happy. He doesn’t know the bad. She doesn’t want him to know the bad.

“He did,” Serena agrees. She takes Bernie’s hand, draws meaningless shapes into her palm, lets her fingers roam to Bernie’s wrist, to the inside of her elbow, back down the soft flesh of her inner arm. 

“He doesn’t know me that well.” Bernie looks at Serena with those sad, almost weepy eyes, though Serena doesn’t think she’s ever seen Bernie actually shed tears.

“He knows you well enough. Didn’t take him that long to call me auntie.” Serena grasps Bernie’s hand then, in between both of hers. She lifts Bernie’s fingers to her mouth, kisses them gently. Bernie touches her forehead to Serena’s, glad for Serena’s patience as she tries to find the words she wants to say.

“What if...what if I do something wrong?” Her voice is small, and scared, and Serena wishes she could banish that fear away. 

“You know fish and chips night, you watch his favorite shows with him, and, bless you, talk about them with him afterwards. You drive him to work if I have the morning off, you have lunch with him if you can. You remembered the documentary he watched a month ago and bought him a book about it. You also dropped his mug on the ground, and forgot about one of his appointments last week. You accidentally threw out one of his magazines. He doesn’t think you’re perfect.” Serena lets her fingers go back to wandering up and down Bernie’s arm. “I don’t either, for that matter.”

Bernie pulls back, startled, to look Serena in the face. Serena smiles. “You’re messy! You leave your hair in my brush! You always finish the last bag of crisps!” Bernie laughs, then, the sadness in her eyes easing. “But I’ll keep you anyway, I think.”

Bernie kisses Serena’s cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, then her lips. “Thank you,” is all she says. She doesn’t feel like running anymore.

 

\- - -

 

The way Bernie decides to stay is this:

Serena simply asks.

 


End file.
